


something stupid like i love you

by jolie_unfiltrd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And coffee, F/F, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with minimal Plot, and also, and avoid impending responsibilities like a PRO, and probably some ~ feelings ~, in which i use italics excessively, thats it, thats what insomnia has gifted me, there will be thirst, this was inspired by theon wanting to bang sansa because she looked like the little mermaid, what is bedtime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2019-06-30 10:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jolie_unfiltrd/pseuds/jolie_unfiltrd
Summary: Listen, if it took her a frighteningly long time to come to the conclusion that Theon, the drunken literal-sailor slumped next to her on the couch wanted to bang her, potentially also on the couch, well, no one could blame her. (It had been 2-for-1 Long Islands at Yara’s bar, she had gotten free tequila shots thanks to Margaery, and she’d been trying to win a bet and drink Jon- I Drink Away My Feelings and Brood -Snow under the table.(She had won, of course, but let that not eclipse the secondary victory of the evening).Theon wanted to fuck her. More importantly, Theon was seemingly unaware that he was confessing all of this to her, the object of his desires... oh,fuckyes.---fic title: "somethin' stupid" by frank & nancy sinatra





	1. Sansa

It started with a drunken confession. 

Well, it was less of a confession and more of a slurred murmur, really. 

“Robb’s goin’ to murder me,” Theon said morosely into the couch cushions Sansa had unceremoniously dumped him on, sliding his arm off of her shoulders and easing him down onto the leather. 

She snorted, even as she shucked off her heels and settled in-between his lanky legs on the couch, tucking picking up the remote and turning it to mute as she listened to Theon bemoan his life situation. It was important to hydrate after a night of drinking, and if she happened to also catch up on last week’s Project Runway, so be it. If Project Runway was also a handy way to distract herself from being between Theon’s legs and close enough that she could trace a delicate finger across his exposed hipbone, then she’d pay fervent attention to the telly. 

“Why, what’d you do this time?” He couldn’t have puked in Robb’s car again. That was last weekend’s debacle, and the reason why they had had to walk - despite _frigid temperatures_ \- back to the apartment from the bar. (Robb would also probably add that she wouldn’t be freezing if she wore a dress that covered more but what did he know? He wore khakis and a flannel. To the _bar_.) Arya and Gendry - thankfully, they were loud - were crashing at his place, and Jon would be back once he finished brooding in the corner drinking scotch and glaring at everyone who came near, so likely after closing. Sansa’s apartment was across town and while it was excellently placed for her apprenticeship, it was terrible for bar-hopping, so she had a standing claim on the couch in the dingy apartment that the boys shared.

Arguably, and secretly, her best argument for crashing over was that the apartment was both excellently situated for the donuts around the corner and the frequent availability of Theon’s half-naked body at her perusal. What? It wasn’t her fault his body looked like a chiseled Greek god and his eyes were mischievous and - she turned up the sound on Project Runway determinedly. 

Theon threw an arm dramatically over his face. “S’much worse than that.” She rolled her eyes at his theatrics and waited for the inevitable - _there it is_ \- heavy sigh and explanation. “I want in his sister’s knickers.” 

“What, to wear?" Sansa tried to hold back her laughter as best she could, despite the frankly hilarious mental image of his trim waist leading down to her best lacy underthings. Perhaps a garter belt… She swallowed hard at the idea of all that exposed flesh, even scantily covered by lace and took a long sip of her ice water. _Goddammit, Sansa, you either need to get laid or pick up new batteries for your vibrator, you hussy._

He looked up at her, eyes wide and incredulous, and placed a hand on his chest, his gaze earnest if a little blurry. “No, I want to _bang_ her.” 

At that, she couldn’t help the chortle that escaped her mouth - and didn’t honestly try that hard. Who even says _bang_ anymore? Were they twelve? “I wouldn’t worry about Robb, I think Arya’d murder you in your sleep if you tried anything.” 

He groaned and slumped back onto the couch. “I know, it’s not even just Robb I have to worry about, thought arguably he’d be the worst-“ 

“Well, and Gendry-“ she started to say before her cut her off, throwing his hands up in the air exasperatedly. 

“I mean, what am I supposed to do, not want her? She looks like the fuckin’ Little Mermaid,” he whined plaintively. 

Whatever alcohol that had been coursing through Sansa’s veins seemed to slow to an absolute stop. The Little Mermaid? 

But Arya doesn’t… 

But Robb only has two sisters and she’s the other one and she does have long red hair… 

Listen, if it took her a frighteningly long time to come to the conclusion that Theon, the drunken literal-sailor slumped next to her on the couch wanted to bang her, potentially also on the couch, well, no one could blame her. (It had been 2-for-1 Long Islands at Yara’s bar, she had gotten free tequila shots thanks to Margaery, and she’d been trying to win a bet and drink Jon- I Drink Away My Feelings and Brood -Snow under the table. 

(She had won, of course, but let that not eclipse the secondary victory of the evening). 

Theon wanted to fuck her. 

More importantly, Theon was seemingly unaware that he was confessing all of this to her, the object of his desires. She cut her eyes to the left, noting the way his hair fell across his forehead, the aristocratic slope of his nose, the muscle stretching over his hipbones. 

Oh, _fuck yes_. If she played her cards right, she could get her itch scratched, scratch this ridiculous Theon obsession off of her list, and move on with her life, hopefully with a couple orgasms under her belt. 

A coy look took over her face as she casually asked him, even as she noted the poor fabric choice of the sixth designer on the telly, “Well, does she want you?” 

“Love,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in her general direction, “you should see how she eye-fucks me when she thinks no one is looking.” 

Alright, scratch that then. Theon was _definitely_ aware she would bone him. She wondered absently who else had noticed the eye-fucking - subtlety was not exactly her strong suit - and winced. 

“Is Robb the only thing holding you back, then?” 

“Well, and if she wanted to date-“ She cut him off right there, mid-groan about her supposed dating preferences. 

“What if she didn’t?” By the gods, it was Theon. Of course she didn’t want to _date_ him. She just wanted to fuck him! And to be fair, she didn’t want to date anyone right now after the disaster that had been her dating life in the last two years - 

so lost was she in her internal dialogue that she almost missed Theon’s final murmur before he drifted off to sleep, arm draped over his eyes to block out the light from the TV, shirt stretched up even further and displaying the indents over his hipbones that she - god help her - wanted to _lick_ and - 

“I’d fuck ‘er on ev’ry flat surface in this fucking apartment.” 

Sansa swallowed hard as his words washed over her, sparking the indolent desire in her limbs with each filthy image that flashed through her mind. This couch, the countertop, the shower, his calloused hands on her tits, grasping her hips hard enough to bruise- 

She stood up abruptly and flicked off the TV, tossing the remote back to the depths of the couch, and with one more glance towards the sleeping man on the couch, eyes gleaming catlike in the dark, proceeded towards Robb’s shower. A nice cold shower was exactly what she needed tonight. If she was in her own apartment, she would have indulged in a nice, tipsy bubble bath and a long, extravagant session with her vibrator until she collapsed in exhaustion but she supposed rubbing one out in the shower would have to do. 

She grinned broadly as she stripped and hopped into the shower, already plotting how to best use the information she’d been gifted. Tomorrow, she’d try to get fucked on at least one flat surface in this goddamn apartment. And say one thing about Sansa Stark, she’d always been an over-achiever.


	2. Theon

Theon woke up in a state of blurred confusion. 

First of all, he had no memory of leaving the bar, let alone making it back to his apartment. 

Second of all, the smell of scones and bacon permeated the air. 

Third of all, and perhaps most importantly, Sansa was dancing around the kitchen, humming lightly, wearing his shirt and a definite lack of pants. When she bent over in the kitchen, seemingly unaware that his eyes had been opened to this glorious, wonderful gift of a world, he could just see the edges of lace wrapped around her luscious ass cheeks. 

Theon closed his eyes briefly and offered up a quick prayer of thanks to whatever gods were listening that she often stayed over at their apartment, that she occasionally borrowed his clothes, and that he had been granted the wonderful sight of her ass bent over first thing this morning. He drank the sight of her in like water - what _was_ she searching for in the back of that cabinet, he wondered absentmindedly - before deciding that some actual water may be helpful in dispelling the pounding in his head that was disturbing his concentration on the task at hand. (Mostly: not getting a hard-on at the sight of his fantasy in his clothes.)

He groaned and stretched and yawned believably, giving off the reliable impression that he had just woken up. “G’morning,” he grunted at Sansa as he wandered towards the kitchen in search of ibuprofen and perhaps some - ah, there it is. He snatched up a mug of coffee like a lifeline and promptly nearly choked on it as Sansa stood up and greeted him shortly, casually. 

She was definitely, one-hundred-percent, _not_ wearing a bra. The hard outlines of her nipples pressed against the band t-shirt she was wearing and gods above he wanted to suckle them like a babe. 

“Want anything?” she asked, seemingly unaware that he was so affected by her current state of dress. 

Theon rejected the first eight things he thought of, and considering licking whipped cream off of her tits was likely the most conservative of the group went for a simple: “breakfast?” 

“Sure,” she said, shrugging and turning as if this was a normal morning and she was wearing a normal outfit and _oh my god_ he was pretty sure he was hallucinating. 

The timer went off and she grabbed oven mitts before turning to pull the tray of lemon blueberry scones out of the oven. Theon tried, he really did, to avert his eyes and be a gentleman but his body betrayed him. His eyes followed the line of lace along her ass cheeks down between her legs where it cupped her cunt and he wondered what she would taste like and - 

he forcibly turned himself away and looked out the window, giving himself a quiet pep talk about pulling himself together and acting like a grown-up and not some lascivious teenager who doesn’t even know what lascivious means and they’re friends and he needs to act like it and not be weird and he can totally do this he has self-control and discipline and - 

A sharp knock on the door and the turning of a handle indicated sudden guests. _Oh thank god_ , he thought, before realizing that meant someone else was going to get to see Sansa in all her loveliness and a possessive streak wanted him to dash in and wrap her in a bedsheet like a nun. 

That would, of course, deprive him of the view as well. So, of course, he stayed exactly where he was as Arya and Gendry walked in. Arya, who was her sister, and therefore no current threat (though with that girl you never know if she’ll be punching _you_ next). Gendry, who would thankfully be gelded if he even looked in Sansa’s general direction with an air of sexual interest. He sighed in relief. 

Arya had a bag over her shoulder which she tossed to Sansa as soon as she had removed her oven mitts. “Here. Ugh. Now you can put on some pants.” 

Sansa grinned gratefully at her sister before winking at Theon. “Oh, Theon doesn’t mind, does he?” 

Bewildered, he winked back, not sure what game she was playing at but more than willing to play along if it meant more seconds of her exposed legs. “Well, uh, ’course not, love.” 

“Gross,” Arya said without heat before plopping onto a stool at the island and pulling a plate in front of her, scalding her fingertips on a hot scone in her impatience, eyes rimmed with last night’s eyeliner and hair pulled back haphazardly from her face. 

“Thanks for breakfast,” Gendry offered before loading half of the bacon onto his plate and filling the other half with eggs. Theon would wonder where it all went but look, he’s seen the guy at the gym, okay? The man looked like he could split you in half with an axe and also fight some bulls and then benchpress the bar for fun. Gendry reached for a slice of Arya’s bacon and she slapped his hand idly. 

“Anytime,” Sansa shrugged, “it’s the least I can do for crashing here last night.” She grabbed the bag that Arya had brought over and made her way down the hall towards the bathroom. “Robb will be here soon,” she added over her shoulder as she sauntered away. Well, maybe she didn’t look like she was sauntering to anyone else, but as Arya and Gendry’s gazes were fixed on the slowly appearing bottom of their plates, he really had no one to confirm his analysis of her gait. 

Theon’s eyebrows knitted together over his coffee and he wondered the impossible: had they slept together last night? Is that why she winked at him? And wasn’t wearing pants? It made no sense. It made perfect sense. But gods above, why couldn’t he remember? 

Robb was going to kill him, if they did sleep together. Ugh, Theon groaned. He was probably going to kill him regardless for wanting to bang and marry and have a thousand babies and grow old with Sansa. Probably especially if he started out with the part about wanting to fuck her silly on every surface in this apartment. He grimaced into his coffee. Yeah, he should definitely start with the growing old bit and never ever fucking mention the banging part. Let Robb imagine the children came from immaculate conception and _maybe_ Theon could avoid certain death at his hands. 

Although, thinking of Sansa’s incredible body in his kitchen that morning, making breakfast in his shirt, he mused that certain death could be worth it. Scratch that - he pictured her bending over the counter once more - definitely worth it. Let his obituary name his cause of death as Sansa’s ass and - indirectly - Robb.


	3. Robb

Listen, Robb was many things - absurdly pretty being one of them - but he wasn’t stupid. 

Or, really, if you listened to his girlfriend - which most people did, her having a medical degree and all - he wasn’t as stupid as people thought. Which he figured was pretty good. 

So if Theon thought he was being subtle, then _he_ was the stupid one. That sailor boy looked at Sansa like she hung the moon, the stars and painted the night sky in-between, like one glimpse of her smile was enough to start Theon naming their children, like he could nestle between her breasts and never come up for air. 

(Let it never be said that Robb wasn’t a romantic.)

The thing was, Robb considered as he walked towards the apartment, arm slung casually over Talisa’s shoulders as she called the clinic, while he was sure that Theon was all heart-eyes for Sansa, (and he’d tell the idiot he had his blessing if he’d just _ask_ ), Sansa was the real mystery. 

A couple of moronic dick monkeys years ago had left her protective of her heart and her body - rightly so. (He had been the one to teach her to keep her thumb outside her fist when she punched, and had never been prouder than the day Harry Hardyng showed up to lacrosse practice with a black eye.) She played her cards close to her heart, or whatever that meant. Robb just didn’t know if she liked Theon, like, _like-liked_ him. 

And if she didn’t, he didn’t want his best friend to get his heart broken. 

Deep in thought, he shouldered open the door, hollering “honey, I’m homeeee!” and chuckling at Talisa’s rolling eyes (maybe it wasn’t as funny if he did it every time?) (or maybe it was _more_ funny?) - and saw Theon standing there, a look on his face that Robb was, unfortunately, very familiar with. 

Longing, lust, confusion, fear. 

_Oh fuck._

He casually sauntered over and punched his best friend in the shoulder as he reached for a mug of coffee, making sure that Talisa’s thermos was topped off before he poured his own - he was a gentleman, alright? Theon’s eyes flicked towards him and the fear only intensified. Robb’s brow furrowed and he raised his mug in cheers before asking him lowly if everything was alright, out of earshot of the Dynamic Duo and his terrifyingly perceptive girlfriend. 

“Don’t kill me,” Theon squeaked out before coughing and allowing his voice to deepen to his normal timbre. “Ah, what I meant to say was - please don’t kill me.” 

Robb just raised an eyebrow and continued sipping his god nectar, knowing that, eventually, Theon would - _ah, there it is_ \- sigh and confess everything. 

“Okay, listen. I don’t remember anything from last night - how did I get home, anyway? - but I woke up and she was in the kitchen and wearing my shirt and winking at me and - fuck.” He visibly shuddered, though whether it was in revulsion or lust was unclear at the present moment. “I think we slept together? Maybe?”

“Oh, shit.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he even thought about it. Theon winced. Robb hurried to explain, making sure his volume level was kept low. “No, man, I just meant that I thought you’d want your first time with her to be more special?” 

His best friend jumped backwards so quickly the coffee splashed across his t-shirt and he didn’t even seem to notice. “You knew?” he said, accusingly, a drip making its way down his aristocratic nose and somewhat ruining the serious effect. 

“Knew you’re like, hella in love with my sister? Yeah, man,” he shrugged, the essence of nonchalance. “I was just waiting for you to ask me for your blessing or some shite like that.” 

Theon’s mouth was open like a fish, coffee still dripping down his shirt and hand when Sansa walked back into the room, pants firmly in place, and bright eyes narrowing as she looked at Robb and Theon standing together, a coffee stain on Theon’s shirt and a look on his face like a drowning fish. 

“Between you and me, bro,” Robb murmured to Theon, “she’s the one I’m worried about. You? I’ve known you liked her since before you knew you liked her. But her? She’s a tough cookie to crumble. But if you slept with her, that’s a good sign!” He clapped his best friend on the back encouragingly. 

“But I -“ Theon looked bereft, though whether it was over Sansa’s sudden possession of pants or Robb’s statement, he wasn’t quite sure. “I don’t even know if-“ 

Robb rolled his eyes. The _drama_. He would say he hated it, but honestly, he rather enjoyed this part before a relationship. This will-they, won’t-they, did-they, didn’t-they, will they date and end up married and have a billion babies for him to be the fun uncle with and toss them up and down while they giggle - _gods, did he want kids??_ \- or will they date and fuck around and ruin everything without his careful guidance? 

That’s it, these two just needed his skillful manipulations and they’d stumble right into each other’s arms. 

But how… 

Talisa, noticing the suddenly scheming look in Robb’s eyes as he looked between his best mate and his sister, sidled up next to him. “Love, don’t do it. Whatever you’re plotting, it’ll be better if they just fall together on their own.” 

“Yes, dear, of course, you’re right,” Robb said, a cheshire cat grin taking over his face and a twinkle in his eye. She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her mouth. 

At least it would be fun to watch.


	4. Arya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I'm sorry for the MONTHS LONG wait for the continuation of this trash fic! Grad school + new baby + various insanity... 
> 
> ANYWAY please accept this short Arya interlude chapter as my apology and know that we'll be getting back in with Sansa next chapter as she tries to bang her sailor and Theon tries desperately to woo her. I'm hoping to finish this baby up in 7 chapters and really trying to finish it in the next month or so in my mission to clear out some of my WIPs. 
> 
> thanks for your patience and killer comments, i've loved every one of them!

_Idiots, the lot of them,_ Arya thought, rolling her eyes as she plated herself another waffle and rolled her shoulders until they cracked. An early morning gym sesh with Gendry was one of her weekly highlights – as well as the banging bang sesh afterwords – but egads, it tended to leave her both starving and sore in places she wasn’t sure was anatomically possible.

Arya wasn’t what people generally referred to as a ‘people-person.’ In fact, they tended to refer to her as the complete opposite. She liked basically three people, not including her insane family, and one of those people was her boyfriend, the other was the pizza delivery guy, and the final was her tattoo artist. But it didn’t mean she was bad at reading people – she just didn’t generally like them very much. 

Besides, sometimes said people made it so fucking obvious. 

Over the last month, Arya had come to an unsurprising conclusion: Theon wanted to bang Sansa. He was also, like, minorly in love with her? But feelings weren’t really her business. 

How did she come to this conclusion, one might ask? Well, again. Obvious. 

Last week, Theon got drunk at the bar and just prior to puking in Robb’s car (mere seconds before Sansa clambered into the backseat with him) confessed something about his obsession with Sansa’s hair and legs. He mentioned something about them not being flippers, but honestly, not the weirdest thing she’d ever heard him say, so she brushed it off. 

This was two weeks after she caught Theon pouring salt into his coffee while watching Sansa just like, flip pancakes or some shit, and then drink the whole thing down before pouring another. (She took mercy on him then, pulling the salt away and pushing the sugar bowl in the general direction of his aimlessly wandering hands as he refused to take his eyeballs off of her sister.) 

And that was a week after Gendry saw – well, it doesn’t matter what he saw, or heard, but it was incriminating and Arya honestly _never_ wanted to think about it again. 

She was also pretty certain that Sansa wanted to bang Theon, based purely on a 2 am text from the night before asking for a very specific outfit, including but not limited to her best black lacy bra, the denim shorts Margaery got her for her birthday (which were obviously the shortest and most flattering that she owned), and the weird sandals that reminded Arya of Gladiator but that some boys (Theon) apparently liked. 

They were like, the least subtle people on the planet, but- she paused to glare at Gendry as he attempted to sneak some bacon from her plate, soften as he pouted, and slip him the crunchiest piece from her plate, smiling fondly when his face lit up – sometimes, she swore dating Gendry was similar to having a golden retriever around – but it seemed that, until last night, Theon’s affections were going to stay unrequited. 

She snorted at the way Theon jumped when Robb walked in the door, and satisfied herself with eavesdropping on the conversation between her dumb brother and her dumber adoptive brother. Honestly, she didn’t see what Talisa saw in Robb (stability, humor to balance the serious quality of her profession, a steady hand to keep her from indulging too much in her perfectionist tendencies, careful listening at the end of a hard day) or what Sansa saw in Theon (adoration, worship, devotion, a challenge in the best way). 

What she did know is that whatever Robb was planning would inevitably wreck her carefully curated afternoon plans of doing absolutely nothing. They’d probably go to a movie or some shit and encourage Theon to put his arm around her like they were in fucking primary school and – 

_Oh my god. That was actually their plan. Idiots,_ she thought exasperatedly. 

“No, no, no, absolutely not,” she swiveled on the chair to face them, smirking at their widened eyes and guilty faces. Gendry snorted alongside her. Theon’s fingers twitched as if he was consciously restraining himself from throwing his hands up and surrendering. 

“Robb, that was a terrible plan, and Talisa? I’d say I’m disappointed you let it get this far but honestly I’m surprised you put up with him at all so bless you for still being here.” Talisa smirked as she put a hand over Robb’s mouth, quelling his outrage at the start, smiling fondly at her pretty boyfriend. 

“Theon,” she glared at the sailor with the coffee stain down his shirt, “pull yourself together, man. You didn’t sleep with Sansa last night.” The look of mixed relief and regret on his face was comical, but Arya managed to hold back her mocking remarks in favor of getting these idiots together in a way that didn’t ruin her lazy afternoon plans which currently consisted of margaritas in the sun before wrecking her boyfriend’s ass in beach volleyball, then ordering pizza and watching that documentary on the history of daggers that they’d been wanting to see for ages. 

“Okay so I-“ 

“You should just ask her on a date, you fucking moron.” 

“But what if-“

“I don’t know.” 

“And she-“ 

“So what?” 

“But if she-“ 

“I don’t care.” 

“You’re not even listening-“ 

“No point.” 

Theon glared at Arya. Arya quirked an eyebrow and waited. 

“Fine,” he sighed, defeated, “I’ll ask her on a date.” Her grin was triumphant and cat-like. She knew it was vaguely terrifying and she didn’t really care. Gods, people were easy. 

Robb, having watched the back and forth with an amused smile on his face, glared at his best mate and shoved his shoulder roughly, causing the remains of Theon’s coffee to thoroughly ruin his t-shirt. “Well, not with that attitude you won’t!” 

Theon groaned, setting his empty coffee mug on the counter before stripping off his shirt, saying “you know what I meant, arseface" glaring back at Robb as he yanked the shirt off of his head, not noticing that a certain redhead had come in the kitchen behind them. 

Sansa, looking terrifyingly like her sister at the moment, lips quirked in a half-smile and eyes appraising the half-naked man in front of her, wolf-whistled lowly. "So, Theon, got plans this afternoon?" 

He swallowed as he took her in, from oddly-attractive sandals to short denim shorts revealing miles and miles of perfect legs, to the perfect press of her perfect tits against her shirt, up to her perfect smirking lips and perfect smug blue eyes and perfect copper hair - before clearing his throat, eyes flicking to both Arya and Robb (the latter of whom tried to subtly give him an encouraging thumbs up) (Arya just flipped him the bird) and saying: "Only if you do, dollface."

Robb's face fell into his palms, Arya groaned audibly, but Sansa's broad grin was answer enough.


	5. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa owns up to what she wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is honestly the silliest fic and i'm having the best time writing it and i appreciate, SO MUCH, all of the wonderful comments and kudos <3 
> 
> you guys are wonderful and i am delighted (& surprised) EACH and EVERY time someone likes this fic, or comments on it. so, thank you for being here. sometimes i forget how much fun fanfiction & this community can be, so thanks for the reminder! 
> 
> ANYWAY, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO--

Listen, it just wasn’t in Sansa’s nature to not appreciate beautiful things when they were right in front of her. And Theon’s bare chest, with all its evidence of the hours upon hours he spends on a boat each week – corded arms, slender but firm back muscles, washboard abs that had to be spray-painted on because she was sure she would have noticed those before – well, it was a goddamn work of art. Forget the Mona Lisa, forget Project Runway, forget Chris Hemsworth… okay, partially forget Chris Hemsworth. 

Theon was beautiful. And she wanted to do terrible, terrible things to him. 

It was a mutual thing, really. She also wanted him to do terrible things to her – like, just off the top of her head, with no forethought or pre-fantasy planning whatsoever, lick whipped cream off her tits until she begged to come, or bend her over her dining room table and thrust slowly, torturously, until she could hardly see straight or- 

The grin she couldn’t seem to wipe from her face only managed to disguise the blush, not hide it completely. Was it so obvious she wanted him? She swallowed and bit her lip as she looked at him, forgetting about the coffee-stained t-shirt in his hands as he argued with Robb about some dumb sport – honestly, she wasn’t listening _at all_ – he was _shirtless_ how was she supposed to _focus_ – wondering why she was suddenly so nervous, and at a loss for words. She had asked if he had plans, but her only plans were to ravage him all day and night, but suddenly she wasn’t sure how, exactly, to go about that. His confession the night before should have made things easier. He wanted her. She knew it. She wanted him too. He knew it. 

So why was she still standing here, staring at him? Margaery’s voice chanted lascivious commands in the back of her head, but they weren’t any help. It was like trying to get from point A to point B with no map – and approximately 4 other major, person-sized obstacles in the way. How in the ever-loving fuck did all of her family members suddenly appear in this apartment when she’s trying to get fucked on the exact counter that they are all eating waffles off of? Sure, sure, it was a weekly tradition. But of all the days for everyone to show up on time… 

What to do, what to do… 

If she were Arya, she’d order everyone out. But they were technically in the middle of eating waffles. 

If she were Robb, she’d just walk up to Theon, ask how a pretty girl like him ended up at a party like this – but that was Talisa, at his graduation party, whereas this is Theon (arguably, still a pretty boy) and they were in Theon’s apartment. It didn’t quite fit. Also, she wasn’t an idiot. 

If she were Jon – well, she wasn’t quite sure how Jon got girls, actually. He seemed to just brood in the corner and they flocked to him. She should have had him teach her how to brood successfully last night but she had been too busy trouncing his ass in drinking games as the night progressed. 

Sansa tilted her head to the side, considering. _Worth it._

If she were Theon – Sansa’s thoughts ground to a standstill. She wasn’t actually sure how Theon got girls, either. She tried to recall a time in the last few months, six months, year that she had seen him pick up a girl and take them home, or even talk to a girl outside of their immediate friend group, Yara or Margaery. She drew a blank. 

Well, it was up to her, it seemed. Steeling her nerves, and changing her goals, she sidled up next to Theon, waiting until Talisa caught Robb’s attention subtly (bless that beautiful, life-saving woman) and loudly asked Sansa what her plans were for the day (did saving lives all day just use up her storage of good deeds every day or what?), winking lasciviously in her direction. 

“Okay, that’s it,” she stated, loud and brash and bolder than she felt, ignoring the looks as she pushed Theon towards his room. “Put on a shirt, then you’re taking me back to my apartment so I can get some food because some people-“ she looked pointedly at Arya and Gendry, “-think it’s appropriate to come over and eat all of the waffles and bacon without even remembering to bring bubbly for mimosas. Honestly, how dare you?” 

Arya and Gendry looked remarkably nonplussed. They weren’t scolded enough as children, Sansa thought. It lessened the effect. Perhaps she’d tell the Stark matriarch about the time she caught them canoodling on her precious sitting room chaise lounge – the sight of Gendry trying to contort his tall body onto that thing had been comical enough to send her into near hysterics and shocked the two of them into abstinence for at least four hours. That should do it, she nodded, satisfied. 

Robb sheepishly pulled several slightly smushed waffles out of Talisa’s tote bag, much to everyone’s surprise. “There’s more waffles?” 

“Uh, no thanks,” Sansa said, eyes alighting on Theon as he emerged from his bedroom, newly and unfortunately clothed in a Rowing Club t-shirt that too-clearly showed off his arms and the exact slope of his shoulders that she’d like to spend the afternoon sitting on as she – she shook her head. _Focus, girl,_ she thought. _You only have to make it to your apartment._

Manhandling his broad shoulders, she shoved Theon out of the door, yelling a quick good-bye to her idiot family and their generally lovely respective partners, placed the car keys in his hand, and marched off in the general direction of his car. Theon, to his credit, looked confused as hell but did as he was told. 

_Good boy,_ purred the lascivious voice inside of Sansa’s head that sounded suspiciously like Margaery. 

“To my apartment, Alfred,” she intoned as she slipped inside the passenger side, tossing a mischievous grin in his direction, laughing as he bowed a little towards her. 

“Yes, ma’am, of course.” 

They drove in comfortable silence towards her apartment. (Well, Theon seemed comfortable, anyway.) Sansa’s feet up against the dash, listening to the upbeat pop music and drumming her fingers restlessly on the sides of her thighs – debating endlessly how to bring up to Theon that she may want to bang him too, and in fact, she may want to bang him today. 

In like, fifteen minutes. Give or take. 

It wasn’t until they were stopped at the final red light before the turn onto her street that he stopped and looked at her, finally noting the restless cadence to her fingertips, the way her teeth were biting her lip, and the way she seemed to narrow her eyes in thought whenever she glanced his way. 

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, reaching out a hand towards her and then, apparently, thinking better of it, letting it fall awkwardly between them onto the gear shift, eyes flickering between the traffic light and the look on her face. 

“Peachy,” she replied, swallowing afterwards and trying to contain her nervousness. Why was she so nervous? She wanted him, he wanted her – compared to her teenage years of lusting and angsting and loving from afar, this would be a walk in the park. All she had to do was say, _Theon, I want you to fuck me against the door of my apartment_. And then they would fuck, she would scratch her ridiculous Theon itch, and all would be right with the world. 

The silence in the car suddenly became noticeable; her eyes flickered towards Theon’s hand, tight on the gear shift, following the tension in his arm up to the twitch in his jaw and the widening of his eyes. 

Oh, _gods._ Subtlety, she bemoaned, was not her strong suit. 

“Am-“ he started, clearing his throat as he looked at her, only at her, with an uncertain grin playing around the corners of his mouth. “Am I hallucinating?” 

“Um, maybe?” She bit her lip as she tucked her hair behind her ear, looking at him sideways through her lashes. “What exactly did I say?” 

“That you wanted me to fuck you? Against the door of your apartment?” His words sped together in a jumbled mush as he stared at her quizzically. 

Sansa nodded, a grin slowly spreading across her face as she looked at him. _Really_ looked at him, for the first time all morning. She couldn’t help the blush spreading up the sides of her face – gods above, had she ever been this forward? This unafraid? This desperate and wanting, knowing that she was wanted in return? The way he was looking at her – all desperate and hot and eager and unsure – made her regret waiting even this long to tell him her desires. It had been all of twelve hours since she heard his confession and felt safe confessing her own, but she had wanted him for days. Weeks. (Months, if she was being honest with herself.)

“Yeah, okay,” he said – which sounded, Sansa thought, totally lame, or like it _should_ have been lame but the way his green eyes were blazing made it sound like a promise to fulfill all of her fantasies, in alphabetical order, if she so chose. 

The car suddenly felt too hot as she watched him watch her tease her bottom lip with her teeth, then lick them slowly, unconsciously. His awareness of her every move was striking. Flattering. Worshipful. 

If only he was as aware of the traffic lights. 

“Green light, Theon.” 

“Hmm?” 

“The light is green, Greyjoy.” 

“Oh, shitfuck,” he said, as a loud horn roused him from his reverie, and the car lurched forwards as he made his way towards her apartment as fast as was both legally possible and safe. Precious cargo, and all that. 

He parked and made his way to the passenger side as Sansa emerged from the car. (He totally did not compare her to Aphrodite emerging from the sea.) (He totally did.) 

Sansa stood, looking up at him through her lashes and licking her lips, as he took careful, purposeful steps towards her, backing her up against the body of the car, pressing his body against hers. She slid her fingertips under his shirt to grab his hips and yank him in even closer to her, delighting in the way his pupils dilated and his breathing hitched. 

His eyes started to close as he leaned in, her lips parted expectantly as she lifted her chin, just slightly, feeling her heart thudding in her chest and a warmth coiling low in her belly. The press of his lips against hers was electric, kindling fire set aflame – 

“Oy! Get a room!” yelled a voice from across the street. Sansa could feel Theon smiling against her lips, and then chuckling, before he grabbed her hand and pulled her towards her apartment building, raising his eyebrows suggestively as he looked over his shoulder. 

She shoved him aside with her shoulder, narrowly managing to avoid the emergency-room visit and resulting stitches that surely would have been the result of him slamming, head first, into the lamp post just ahead of him. 

“Focus, Greyjoy,” she teased him, pulling ahead of him to unlock the door, heart hammering in her ears loud enough that she nearly missed his response, muttered into her hair from behind as he grasped her hips with his hands, reveling in the feel of her. To be fair, and to be perfectly honest, Sansa wasn’t entirely sure she remembered her last name. Or her zip code. Or which _goddamn key unlocked her goddamn apartment door._

“How in the fuck am I supposed to focus when all I can think about is fucking you?” 

Well, and after that, honestly, how was she supposed to remember her own name? 

(Surely, in the next, oh, fifteen minutes or so, Theon would find a way to remind her – low groans in her ear, murmured adorations as he kissed his way up her body, a choked shout as he – )

“Oh thank the gods, finally,” she said, pushing her apartment door open with force, pushing her way past the heavy door and letting Theon follow closely behind. He let the door shut firmly once more, before turning to look at her, green eyes heavy with desire and mischievous as always. 

This was the hottest she’d felt since spring break two years back, when she fell asleep on the beach after one-too-many margaritas consisting mainly of tequila, sun roasting her delicate skin, and yet a shiver ran up her spine as her eyes fixated on his mouth, smirking and laughing, all in one precise movement that was exclusively, quintessentially, Theon Greyjoy. 

“I-“ she started to say something – who knows what? – but he interrupted, pressing her up against her apartment door, sliding his hands into her hair, cradling her jaw, and kissing her soundly. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her to her toes, wedging his thigh between her legs – _my, aren’t we brazen_ – and completely overwhelming her sensations. All she knew was the hot feel of his body against hers in all of the right places, in all of the right ways – _gods, if she had known it would be like this, she would have kissed him ages ago_ – and the smell of salt-water that lingered, ever present, on his skin. She wanted to taste every inch of him. She wanted to drown in him and never come up for air. She just… the _wanting_ of Theon Greyjoy hadn’t prepared her for the experience of actually having him in her arms, kissing her soundly. 

(She’d expected the heat, she’d expected the sheer force of wanting him. 

She hadn’t expected how much his lips on hers would feel like home.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can come fangirl with me on tumblr @ jolieunfiltrd 
> 
> comments, love, constructive crit are all welcome here! 
> 
> next up: THEON!

**Author's Note:**

> as always: thank you for reading! it brings my little trash heart so much joy.


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